Harry Potter And The Poser's Stone
by Brandschlag
Summary: What if, around the time shortly after founding Hogwarts, the four Founders had become fascinated with the sport of weightlifting? How would it have impacted this society into which Harry Potter is now about to be introduced? (Comedy/Parody & Strongman/Powerlifting Wizards & Witches!)
1. Chapter 1

I thought I'd finally write this story after having the idea haunt me for close to a year.

Leave me some feedback, if you want, and if you happen to think this or that character might look or sound like a person in real life, then ... eh, didn't do it on purpose, I swear.

Now! You ready? Chalked up? Hydrated? Good.

In your own time! READ!

* * *

Harry Potter always had known he was a very strange child, even without the Dursleys, his aunt and uncle who were raising him missing no chance in telling him so on a daily basis.

Nearly ten years had passed since Harry had arrived in their household, and nothing much had changed, except that the Dursleys kept getting fatter, and fatter and Harry? Well Harry didn't; in fact, he enjoyed the menial tasks he was given, enjoyed lifting, enjoyed getting stronger!

That's how it came to be, that on his eleventh birthday, Harry Potter had been forced to join his family on a dietary cure somewhere far off the coast, on a sodden rock with a storm whipping up the sea.

It was just a few seconds past midnight when the shack they were housed in shook.

"Where's the popcorn?" asked Dudley, Harry's cousin, stupidly when he jerked awake.

There was a loud crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came at what was a fast pace for a lard his size skidding into the room. He was holding something that looked suspiciously like an oversized fork.

Harry guessed he might have been disturbed while eating his secret stache of mayonnaise drenched bacon salad.

"Who's there? We are fasting, nobody's eating here," Uncle Vernon shouted. "I warn you! We are taking this cure seriously!"

There was a pregnant pause. Then the door was smashed open.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorways, his knees bent to allow him entrance. He wore a muscle shirt, his broad, muscular shoulders touching both sides of the frames, slabs of muscles twitching on his chest with every breath; the beard on his face that would have looked on anyone else oversized, seemed like a proper trimming on him. He wore multi coloured shorts made from some expensive synthetic material and a bumbag around his big, muscled belly.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, bending down to pick up the door. As he stuffed it back into the frame, he mumbled an apology that nobody except for Harry really took note of.

"Got some eggs or milk? It's not been an easy journey."

Harry shook his head, his eyes wide and glued to the musculous arms. He felt envy well up in his belly the moment he saw those muscles work.

The giant sighed, striding over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen in fear, or maybe 'cause he was as fat as a small whale, Harry didn't really know.

"Budge up, yeh great heap of schmalz," said the stranger.

Dudley rolled away to hide behind the frames of his mother and father; that was to say, his father and he hid behind Aunt Petunia, who, compared to them, was very much underweight, as thin as a rake, as the saying went.

"An' here's Harry! Lookin' good. Eatin' yer proteins, stayin' hydrated?"

"I demand that you leave at once!" yelled Uncle Vernon, immediately after gasping for air. "You are breaking and entering! We are on a dietary cure!"

"I see that. Now shaddup," said the giant, nodding towards the stained fork in Uncle Vernon's hands. But when Uncle Vernon took another shuddering inhale for yet another demand, the giant reached over the sofa.

For a moment it looked like his enormous, calloused hand would squash Uncle Vernon's head, and Harry secretly wondered if such a feat was truly possible by human hands, but then the giant jerked the fork out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent and twisted it into a ribbon as easily as if it had been made from rubber, and threw it into the corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon chose that moment to hyperventilate.

"Anyway," said the giant, turning back to face Harry, "great day fer yeh, hm? Happy Birthday, and all that! Got summat fer yeh, promised yer parents I'd make sure yeh'd be on-top."

From inside a pocket of his bumbag he pulled an only slightly squashed box. Harry opened it without a moment of hesitation. Inside was a large metallic cup with PROTEIN engraved all over it.

Harry looked up at the giant; he meant to say something expressing his thankfulness, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True," he said, "I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid — Keeper of the Gym Keys of Hogwarts, but people jus' call me 'Hagrid'!"

He held out his enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"What 'bout the milk then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "Missed a meal on the way here and lost at least a litre of fluids, yeh know how bad that can be."

His eyes fell on a tetra pack on the table before the sofa.

"It's skimmed milk," warned Harry as he extracted his birthday gift.

Hagrid snorted disapprovingly, one hand diving deep into the bumbag. He pulled out a pitcher, and a bucket of whey powder easily as big as Uncle Vernon's head. The table groaned under the weight of it. He gestured from the table to Harry.

"Help yerself; it's me emergency ration." He clapped his hands happily when Harry immediately began to fill his birthday gift with whole milk and whey.

"How d'you know my parents?" asked Harry as he began to work his shaker with all his might.

"Yeh know all about Hogwarts, o' course —"

"Err, no," said Harry, looking up from where he examined the foaming liquid in his birthday present.

Hagrid looked shocked. "Yeh don't know where yer parents learnt it all?"

"All what?"

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid roared. "Now wait jus' one second!" He leapt to his feet, shaking the whole of the shack, and the Dursley's too. In his anger he threw the sofa back, hitting the door that promptly fell out of its frame. The Dursleys whimpered; Aunt Petunia was still being at the front, her arms spread protectively over her fat husband and son.

"It's unnatural! And those bodies ... disgusting! Of course we kept it from him," said Aunt Petunia nastily in a moment of bravery that faded as quickly as it had come to possess her when Hagrid turned his eyes on her.

"Kept what from me?" asked Harry.

"STOP! I forbid you!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic from behind Aunt Petunia, who began to tremble in horror when Hagrid took a step towards them.

"Ach! Go fastin', the both of yeh!" said Hagrid then before turning to face Harry with warmth in his eyes. "Harry — yer a strongman!"

"I'm a what?" asked Harry.

"A strongman," said Hagrid as he went to pick up the door, stuffing it back into the frame. On his way to the table, he carried the sofa under his arm as though it weighted nothing at all. "And a right good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been fed and trained up a bit. What with yer mum an' dad havin' been great powerlifters, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

When the sofa was back in place, Hagrid sat down. He leaned back and stuffed his hand deep into the bumbag, pulling out a slightly scrunched envelope.

Harry swallowed a draught of vanilla protein shake, putting down his shaker. He accepted the envelope, pulling out the letter immediately. He read it, his eyes going wide:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WIZARDING POWERLIFTING AND STRONGMANNERY

(Wizarding Britain's foremost facility for Bodybuilding, Macronutrition and Weightlifting)

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Merlin Dumbbell, Gold Class, Carrier of Grand Atlas St., Chief Deadlifter, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizarding Weightlifting)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Powerlifting and Strongmannery. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. The term begins on 1 September. We await your letter with proof of your strength by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress  
(Scotland's Strongest Witch 1959-70)

Harry felt dazed, uncountable questions swimming in his head; almost absently he kept mouthing the words he just read, a small smile forming on his face. After a few long moments of his silence in which only the disgusting puffing and wheezing of Uncle Vernon and Dudley could be heard, Harry asked, "What does it mean, 'letter with proof of your strength'?"

"Flexin' Fairies, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead, the echo of it hitting him rattling the closed window shutters, and yet again from the sheer endless depth of his bumbag he pulled a chicken — a real, live, ruffled-looking chicken — a long quill and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note, visibly troubled by the chance of breaking the filigrane feather-writing-tool. Harry could read it easily upside-down:

Dear Mr. Dumbledore,

Given Harry his letter. Taking him to buy his things soon. Weather is horrible, missed a meal and am dehydrated. Hope you're well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note and held it out to the nervous chicken. It took the note, a range of emotions playing over its avian face, something which Harry never thought possible before.

"Now yeh watch me, Harry! Is how we communicate!" said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together.

The chicken closed its eyes, trembling on the spot; Hagrid raised his big hand, swatting down on the chicken with all his might. A thunderous sound exploded and the chicken was gone. The door fell to the ground, a small hole in its middle. The smell of roasted chicken filled the air.

Hagrid grumbled as he went to pick up the door again. "Where was I?"

Aunt Petunia gave a very birdlike shriek upon coming out of her surprised stupor, only falling silent when Hagrid stared her down, his jaw muscles working menacingly.

"He's not going," said Uncle Vernon, having finally gathered enough breath and misplaced courage to speak. His belly gurgled the sound of a hundred starving children.

Hagrid roared a hectoring laugh, not a single trace of mirth in his voice.

"I'd like ter see a porky Muggle like you stop him," he said.

"A what?" asked Harry after wiping away the downy beard from drinking his protein shake.

"A Muggle," explained Hagrid with a grin. "Used to be what we called people who couldn't do magic, yeh kno'? But now's fer people who dun' lift! An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid me eyes on."

Uncle Vernon was about to open his mouth again when Aunt Petunia beat him to it. She pointed her disturbingly thin finger at Harry, shrieking, "Magic! It was not enough that my sister was such a freak, turning teacups into rat! At least she looked normal! After she got that letter, disappeared off to that — that thing! — and came home every holiday with more muscles, looking like a freakshow! But for my mother and father, oh no, no, no. They were proud how strong Lily was! Lily lift this, Lily lift that —"

She stopped herself to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It was very obvious this all that came bubbling out of her had been waiting for such a chance for quite some time.

"Then she met that Potter-boy at school and they left, got married in that freak Gym, and had you! And of course I knew you'd be the same, just as freaky, lifting things without need and purpose —"

Hagrid flexed his muscular arms and the sound disappeared from Aunt Petunia's lips, leaving her to mouth away without uttering a single word. Uncle Vernon too seemed incapable of making any sound at all.

"Best not mention that to anyone, eh Harry?" said Hagrid. "Not s'posed ter use magic here."

"Why not?"

Hagrid shrugged lazily as he began to prepare himself a protein shake on the table, scooping heap after heap of whey powder into the remaining milk in the pitcher. "It's too easy," he said for explanation. "Magic makes yeh lazy, understand? Won't make yeh grow strong, won't make people respect yeh fer what yeh achieve with yer own two hands, eh?"

He closed the pitcher with one hand, the other holding it tight from below, shaking it diligently.

Harry nodded and when Hagrid was done inhaling his protein shake, Harry asked quietly, "What happened to my parents?"

"The Poser happened," said Hagrid sadly.

"Who?"

"Well — I dun' say the name if I can help it. No one does, except maybe Perfesser Dumbledore."

"Why not?" asked Harry.

"Liftin' Leprechauns, Harry, people are still weirded out! Godric's Glutes, this is difficult! See," Hagrid said, "there was this wizarding strongman-prodigy who went ... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse! Worse than worse. His name was ..."

Hagrid's beard twitched, and it seemed his mouth was moving but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?"

"Nah, is some poncy french ... Voldemort! All right? There!" Hagrid shuddered. "Anyways! This ... poser, about twenty some years ago, started lookin' fer followers! Got 'em too. Dark days. Didn't kno' who ter trust, didn't dare share a scoop of whey ... Terrible things happened. He was takin' over, spread his anabolic poison. O' course some stood up to him an' he ... killed 'em. Horribly, axle press? Slipped outta yer hands right above yer head! Only save place wos Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one The Poser was 'fraid of. Didn't dare 'n try lift 'gainst him.

Now yer mum 'un yer dad were as good powerlifters as I ever knew, yeh can be sure of that. Nobody know's why he went after them ... probably 'cause of their records, maybe. Who knows? All anyone knows is he turned up in yer parent's village, his crew mirin'. He came ter yer house, an' challenged yer parents. Killed them. Dropped his fake-weights on yeh, but yeh survived!"

Harry stared wide-eyed at Hagrid, one hand without his bidding reaching up to the scar on his forehead.

"Found yeh in the ruined house," said Hagrid with a wet laugh. "Yeh were liftin' the plastic plate with yer grubby hands."


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for the reviews. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter just as much.

* * *

It was the morning after having been introduced to his family's legacy that Harry and Hagrid found themselves wandering through London, and, as it turned out, travelling with Hagrid was quite eventful.

Wherever they walked, Harry noticed, people would turn around to crane their necks after Hagrid's humongous form, some staring in awe, others in abject disbelief after the walking mountain of muscles.

"Yeh've still got yer letter, Harry?"

Harry took the envelope out of his pockets, opening it.

"Good," said Hagrid. "Should've a list with everything yeh need to become strong!"

Harry checked, and yes, indeed, there was a second piece of paper in the envelope he hadn't noticed the night before; he read it immediately: 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WIZARDING POWERLIFTING AND STRONGMANNERY

(Wizarding Britain's foremost facility for Bodybuilding, Macronutrition and Weightlifting) 

Uniform

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of Wizarding Gym gear (black)

2\. One sweat headband (black) for day wear

3\. One pair of protective wrist wraps (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One black lifting suit (black, Wizarding Velcro® fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

Set Books

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Magical Weightlifting (Core Class 1) by Miranda Liftgood

A History of Strength by Brothilda Bagshot

Strength Theory for Witches and Wizards by Adalbert Baffling

Magic's Guide to Bodybuilding by Emeric Poseur

One Thousand Sources Of Carbs and Protein by Phyllida Fagales

Macronutritial Drafts and Magical Potions by Chadnius Jigger

Fantastic Meats and How to Cook Them by Newt Bromander

The Anabolic Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Tremble

Other Equipment

1 personal protein shaker

1 weightlifting belt

1 pair of weightlifting shoes

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BARBELLS

"And we can buy all this in London?" asked Harry. He looked up at Hagrid, doubt playing over his face.

"If yeh know where to go," confirmed Hagrid. "An' I'll make sure ter show yeh! Bad gear leads ter injuries! But first we have ter stop for a snack, eh?"

Having never had much choice in his selection of food, Harry nodded eagerly.

"Good," said Hagrid, coming to a stop. "This is it. The Leaky Shaker, most famous source for a protein rich snack, outside of Hogwarts, f'course."

Harry followed the arm that was as thick as a trunk of a tree and saw the tiny, grubby-looking exterior of a pub. If Hagrid had not pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it at all.

The people on the street hurrying past didn't glance at it, but rather slid their eyes from one building to the after next only to be dragged back a moment later to Hagrid's enormous form.

In fact, Harry suspected that this was part of the Magic Hagrid had warned him of. But before he could ask about it, Hagrid ushered him inside.

Harry was surprised to see that the inside of the filthy house was so clean that not even his Aunt Petunia would have found much umbrage with it, if not perhaps, for the linoleum covered floor, the fluorescent colours on the walls and the counter and the oddish fashion people wore.

Speaking of, there were quite a few people inside.

A woman with very big hair, wearing a leotard and legwarmers was leaning on the counter, the steel gripper in her hand making squeaking sounds every now and then. She was chatting with a few other patrons waiting at the counter.

On the other end of the room, a short man with broad shoulders, wearing a multi-coloured track suit was eating a banana, carefully avoiding making eye contact with anyone passing by, whereas the man he was sharing his table with (he wore very short shorts and a muscle shirt) was busying himself with applying lotion to his extremely vascular arms and shoulders.

Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; as he and Harry made their way inside, most of the people waved, some smiled and some others simply called their greetings.

Just as they reached the counter, the barman, a wrinkled, deeply tanned man returned to his workplace. Harry was fascinated by how his mullett danced in a breeze nobody else was affected by as he walked out of the backroom.

"Bangin' good seein' ya, Hagrid! The usual?"

"Yeah Tom, an' make it a proper for him here, an' some eggs! Am on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulders and making Harry's knees buckle much like a heavy squat would do.

"OH!" said the barman, peering at Harry. "OH! OH! Is this ... can this be?! GREAT ATLAS!"

At that exclamation the Leaky Shaker had went dead still and silent.

"Bless my gains," whispered the barman, a small gold chain slipping out from shirt as he leaned forward. "Harry Potter ... what an honour!"

Harry's eyes went wide with panic when the barman rushed around his counter and with him all the other people too went into motion.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back!" said the barman, and his exclamation was followed by a cacophony of like-minded chatter.

Harry didn't know how to react. The high-hair woman forgot to work her gripper, the banana-eating man forgot to avoid making eye-contact; everyone was looking at him, grabbing at his too thin arms, poking their fingers at his weak back, and talking at him.

Harry's stomach rumbled loudly, half out of hunger, half out of sheer panic.

Hagrid's face went from a beaming smile to alert, and dangerous in a heartbeat. His belly grew big for a moment before he thundered, "Now BAG YER FACES!"

None too gently he made space for Harry to walk to the counter. "Yeh know how bad missing out meals is! Come on Harry, lots of good stuff ter eat here."

The barman hurriedly returned to the kitchen, a shout of "Food's coming right up," trailing behind him while Harry climbed up the metal chairs at the counter. Hagrid watched him with a beaming smile.

"Now yeh eat up'n we'll get your gear sorted after — Oh! Didn't see you there, Professor Quirrell! How do yeh do?"

Harry turned just in time to see the extremely vascular man arrive. His arms shimmered with lotion, whereas his face was covered with a sheen of sweat. Up-close, Harry saw that his skin looked very unhealthy, stretching over his defined muscles like a too small piece of Saran Wrap over a big bowl would.

"Professor Quirrell will be one of yer teachers at Hogwarts, Harry."

Said Professor Quirrell twitched visibly. "P-Potter," he said with a slight grimace, grasping Harry's hand for a shake. "Can't t-t-ell you how b-b-bulk it is to meet you."

Harry didn't know what 'bulk' was, but he took his cue from Hagrid who simply nodded with a satisfied grin.

"What do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"Defence A-Ag-Ag-Ag-Ag-gainst the Anabolic F-F-F-Forces!" The Professor twitched again, looking rather angrily down at the cramping muscles in his big legs. He looked like he wanted to say more, but then the barman returned, one hand holding a service tray with three steaming bowls, the other holding a big glass container with a green murky liquid in it.

"Ah, there's yer food, Harry—" said Hagrid, making a sound of delight. "Yummy! Fresh pickle juice!"

The barman put down the steaming bowls of white rice, white meat and boiled eggs. Harry's stomach rumbled again.

"Dig in, dig in. Growin' muscles needs good fuel, Harry!" said Hagrid as he grabbed the jar of pickled cucumbers. He prepared himself to drink straight from the jar when he saw the twitching Professor Quirrell stare at them.

"Oh, Professor! Do you want some of my juice?"

The banana-eating man coughed loudly. Professor Quirrell's face went through a rictus of disgust; it disappeared quickly and he laughed nervously.

"N-N-No, thank you Hagrid. I need to g-g-go. I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-b-book on-on Transylvanian vegan gym candy." He looked strangely torn between disgust and excitement at the thought.

Hagrid grinned at Harry when he reached for a boiled egg while Professor Quirrell left.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh it's good food, eh?"

Harry nodded, his mouth stuffed to the brim with the egg. He chewed, swallowed and asked, "Is Professor Quirrell always this twitchy?"

"Oh yeah," agreed Hagrid. "Poor guy, really. Brilliant at making workout plans, setting up the exercises an' making yeh work to the dot, an' then some more. He wos fine with all that theory, yeh know? But then he took a year off ter get some first-hand experience, yeh get what'am sayin? ... They say he met with vegan Powerlifters in the Black Forest an' there was a bit o' nasty kirkin' out with a Hag Gymnasiast group — never been the same since."

Harry's brain felt like a worn-out sponge while he ate slowly. Vegan Powerlifters? A Hag Gymnasiast group? Still he delighted in the taste of the freshly cooked plain rice and juicy chicken meat. It took a while for him to finish, but as he found Hagrid not to be in a hurry, he took his time.

Meanwhile Hagrid was draining half the jar of pickled cucumbers of its fluids. He was just wiping away some of the juice from his mouth and beard when Harry finished his bowl.

"Should get your equipment now, eh?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "How will I pay for it, though?"

"Right, take some eggs with yeh," said Hagrid as he paid with a small stack of copper coins. "I'll show yeh the ropes. How ter gain entrance in Gringotts."

"What's 'Gringotts'?"

"A bank o'course. Is where yer parents' put their money. Run by the meanest bankers yeh can find under the sun. Goblins." Hagrid screwed up his nose. He turned to wave his goodbye.

Harry stumbled over his own feet, dropping one of the three eggs he was holding.

"Goblins?"

"Surprisingly good aerobic dancers," said Hagrid in the manner of trying to find something good in someone he rather would not like to know at all. He led Harry out of the back of the Leaky Shaker, coming to a halt before a brick wall. "Right. Take a good look, Harry."


	3. Chapter 3

I'm afraid 'the rona' got me. But so far I am doing okay.

Hope y'all stay healthy and have fun reading this chapter.

* * *

More than a little bewildered and with a sack of coins in hand, Harry followed after Hagrid, away from Gringotts and its dancing Goblins. He would have to agree with Hagrid; they indeed were great aerobic dancers, but... but their hairstyles. No! And those thin, short legs stuffed into spandex. Just no.

"Might as well get yer Gym gear now," said Hagrid, nodding towards Madam Malkin's Sportswear for All Occasions. "Yeh better go on in alone. Old Malkin's not gonna be too happy to see me, I took'er record, yeh see."

Harry did not see, but Hagrid looked uncomfortable with the idea of facing the owner's ire, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone while Hagrid went off to collect books and whatever else was missing.

He felt nervous when he entered the shop, but that feeling disappeared quickly when he spotted the picture of a woman holding what could only be described as the leg bone of a dinosaur on her shoulder. Though seeing as said leg bone was black, it was probably a dumbbell. One stupidly big dumbbell with a handle as thick as Harry's forearm, but a dumbbell nonetheless. The woman was young, short, stocky and looked extremely pleased with herself.

A boyish voice was shouting _Lightweight! Lightweight!_ and following them came grunts of exertion blaring from deeper within, causing Harry to crane his neck in search for the source.

Then, suddenly, there was a squat woman in Harry's face.

She looked older, but the smiling face was the same as on the picture, except maybe for a few more wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. She also wore the mauve sports suit from the picture, except that now it sported a full heraldic achievement proud above her chest.

"Hello," said Harry tentatively.

"Hogwarts," she said, making it a statement rather than a question, and turned around, making a 'follow me' gesture over her shoulder.

As she lead Harry deeper into her store, she rattled off items they passed by, some of which were stacked on shelves, mounted to walls, and carefully sorted into boxes on heavy duty metal racks. The products ranged from belts, to elbow and knee sleeves, over wrist wraps, right up to obscure looking contraptions Harry had no idea what they might be for.

Madam Malkin pulled a curtain to the side, revealing a properly set-out indoor gym. In it, a boy with a pale and sweaty pointed face was standing in a squat rack breathing heavily, while behind him second sports suit wearing woman was on her knees, checking over black compression shorts the boy wore over his low cut spandex singlet.

"There will be no sweating on my equipment, Mr. Malfoy," said Madam Malkin, leading Harry into the room.

"What?" snapped the blonde boy indignantly. He made a disgusted sound. "I do not sweat after that _Lightweight!_"

Madam Malkin lifted the boy by the scruff of his very elastic spandex suit up in the air, only the boy's body did not follow. Instead the laws of physics kept him on the ground while his suit expanded to near the point where it would rip and tear.

It looked mighty uncomfortable to Harry, and seeing as Madam Malkin was just a head taller than him, she still kept him dangling a few centimeters above floor from her raised, dragging him away from the gleaming metal barbell and weights.

"I'll have no sweat on my equipment, Mr. Malfoy," she repeat as she did dragged him.

The boy — Malfoy, Harry filled in in his head — spluttered, but neither of the sports suit wearing women paid him any mind.

"You," said Madam Malkin, pointing a single, short finger at Harry to near the squat rack. "Do wait here, dear. I'll get the beginner's set for you."

Harry did as he was told, feeling rather comfortable with the idea of not being lifted like a doll.

"Hullo," said the Malfoy-boy, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"It's tight enough," said the Malfoy-boy snappily at the second woman again fussing over the compression shorts, before turning back to Harry. "My father's buying the books and my mother's up the street, appraising the dumbbells." He looked quite like Dudley always looked when boasting of a new toy. "Then I am going to drag them off to look at the barbells. I don't see why first-years can't have their own! It's not like we are muggles, right? For Atlas' sake! I think I'll bully father into getting me one and smuggle it in somehow."

Harry nodded politely at the appropriate moments, but was somehow not convinced that it was possible to smuggle a tall and most likely heavy metal rod anywhere, let alone into a school where anyone would recognise it for what it was.

The boy went on, "Do you have your own barbell?"

"No," said Harry.

"Lift weights at all?"

"No," Harry said again, adding, "not yet."

The Malfoy-boy looked a little disgusted but nodded approvingly when Harry finished.

"I do," he said, grinning as he began to flex what muscles he could, showing off the hard-earned rewards of his workouts. "Father says I should be placed ahead, and it would be a crime if they stunted my gains, and I must say I agree. Know what Gym you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling oddly overwhelmed with the barrage of questions and his lack of knowledge to form answers with.

"That's fine," said the Malfoy-boy, "nobody really knows until they get there, but look at me, I know I'll be with the Slytherin Gym, all our family have been; imagine being in the Hufflepuff Gym, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" Here he laughed derisively. "Calisthenics, such a cult of wannabes."

At this point Madam Malkin returned, snapping her fingers at the Malfoy-boy right at the moment when Harry was to hum in reply, completely out of his depths.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, dumping a heap of clothes into Harry's arms, "you are done, and you—" she looked at Harry, pointing at another curtain behind with apparently was hidden the fitting room "— get into the gear, and get out here once done. I need to see you work out wearing it."

The Malfoy-boy glowered at Madam Malkin but complied without uttering a single word. He looked at Harry and went ahead toward the fitting room. Harry trailed behind.

Not willing to endure more questions, Harry made quick work of switching out of his clothes and into the gear Madam Malkin had provided him with, various shorts, shirts and a full-body spandex suit.

Unsure whether he should wear it all, or select what he liked most, he did the latter.

It felt odd, in a good sort of way, Harry supposed. He wasn't used to wearing anything but washed-out cast-offs from Dudley, a few numbers too big and always smelling moldy.

The black nylon shorts he wore was skin-tight in some places, baggy in others, but not uncomfortable at all. It also went no further than to cover half his thighs, and it certainly did present his rather thin legs in all their skinny glory, but Harry was comfortable, and he felt good wearing it.

The Malfoy-boy ruined this experience by staring. He did so rather rudely, in fact.

"You look like a runner," he said, disapprovingly, pointing his finger at Harry's thin legs. "Has nobody ever told you that Cardio is Spanish for weakness?!"

Harry watched the boy take off knee-sleeves, then strip out of the compression shorts, the spandex suit and a belt he wore underneath it. He looked a quite a bit smaller afterwards.

"No, I didn't know that," said Harry, feeling put-out. He pulled the muscle shirt over his head.

The Malfoy-boy shook his head, again visible disapproval on his face, but Harry already was walking back out, happy to escape this situation.

"Feel any tightness in the wrong spots dear?" Madam Malkin asked the moment Harry came out.

Harry shook his head.

"Good," said Madam Malkin, gesturing over to where the training tools stood. "Get on with it, and see if it fits well when you move. It must neither sit too loose or too tight! Make sure to tell me if the material stays in place, and fits well."

Harry swallowed the question about which tool he was to select, and instead nodded, moving to the squat rack, the only tool he sort-of knew how to work with.

He went to where he had seen the Malfoy-boy stand, there coming face to face with the distorted reflection of his face in the polished bar. His nose looked distinctly potatolike, with a very small and oddly fitting pair of glasses atop it.

Harry looked at the two polished steel plates each left and right on the sleeves of the barbell, and found that each of the two had a big fat 10 written on them. He swallowed; combined, these plates were almost heavier than he himself!

But Harry Potter was not one to shy away from a challenge; he placed himself under the barbell, both hands gripping tight around the knurling, and pressed a few times against the weight on his shoulders for testing. It felt right, felt good.

Harry grinned belligerently before he could stop himself, but to his surprise Madam Malkin replied with the a challenging grin on her own.

At this point the Malfoy-boy stepped out of the fitting room. Madam Malkin did not bother looking at him when she spoke.

"Mr. Malfoy, I trust you'll be fine with delivery within the next day. You know the way out? "

The other boy spluttered again, attempting to raise his voice but deflated when it became evident that nobody was paying him any attention.

Meanwhile Harry braced himself and then pushed with both his feet against the padded floor. With a soft metallic clinking sound, unsteady at first, the barbell began to lift off the arms of the squat rack. But Harry kept pushing until he stood straight and the barbell was staying even.

It didn't feel as heavy as he thought it would. Harry took a deep breath and with that he began to squat. On his way down Madam Malkin made a sharp noise.

"Push your knees out, dear!"

Harry did push his knees out, and began to force his way back up, breathing out. He lowered the barbell back into the squat rack arms and grinned, elated. However as soon as he took a few awkward steps out of the squat rack, he grimaced.

Madam Malkin tutted at him.

"Nobody wants to spend recovery time attempting to pull their too tight pants out of this crevice or another. Are you quite sure you want this type of pants, dear?"

Harry flushed at being read so easily. "Maybe longer would be better," he admitted.

"Exactly!" Madam Malkin declared happily, and pointed her stubby hand at the fitting room. "Do try the other clothing, dear. There hasn't been anyone I couldn't equip with gear yet."

Thirty minutes later Harry left the store of Madam Malkin with the promise of chicken delivery to his house within the next twelve hours. His sack of gold was nearly empty.

In front of the store, a very busy Hagrid stood waiting. He was holding a basket with a small fence blocking the only opening, and his other oversized hand was holding what looked like a miniature banana.

As he reached Hagrid Harry was offered the basket. Jostled by the change of hands, a nervous clucking sounded. Harry turned the basket and peered inside and came face to face with a crested chicken.

He laughed, surprised. He looked at Hagrid.

"Don't expect you've gotten lotta presents from them Dursleys," he said for explanation before stuffing the banana into his mouth. He chewed with deliberate slowness, it looked like, and shuffled with his feet a bit when Harry kept staring at him.

"Thanks Hagrid," said Harry, smiling.

Hagrid waved his thanks away, but he sounded a bit gruff when spoke. "Is a special breed of hens, lays eggs without any roosters doing their... y'know. Yeh can name her, if yeh want. Come now. Next stop is Ollivanders!"


End file.
